


A Firm Hand

by theangrymom



Series: A/B/O AU [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alpha!Slade, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Barebacking, Domination, Intersex Omegas, M/M, Marking, Omega!Jason, Possessive Behavior, Power Dynamics, Recovered_Alpha!Tim, Scent Marking, Watersports, omega!dick, safe words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2019-01-10 14:51:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12301458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theangrymom/pseuds/theangrymom
Summary: Dick realizes, with a little help from Slade, that ignoring his need to submit isn't healthy. Of course, Slade may have a few ulterior-motives and a little something to gain from an omega in need of an alpha.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> me @myself: can you pls just finish a fic before posting it 
> 
> myself @me: no. instant gratification is my life force

Dick grit his teeth as another blow landed across his already bruised cheekbone. He drew in a hissing breath, control over his breathing pattern about to be shot to hell if he didn’t get a handle on the pain.

 

A meaty hand grabbed him by the hair, forcing him to face forward and stare into the beady brown eyes of the thug--“Jenkins” the other guys called him-- currently beating the shit out of him. With more effort than he was willing to analyze, Dick spat blood in Jenkins’ face, smirking and flashing his teeth with all the haughty bravado his panic hadn’t eaten up.

 

“That all you got,” he asked, running his tongue over his twice-busted lip.

 

A heavy punch had his head snapping back, skull cracking against the back of the chair he was bound to. Despite his efforts, _that_ drew a pained groan from his throat; the thugs looking on chuckled as Jenkins shook his bloodied fist out.

 

“Oh, you’re a mouthy one,” Jenkins said, eyebrows pinched together with annoyance but amusement in his voice. “I’m sure we can help break that bad habit, beautiful.” He gripped Dick’s chin with the same hand he’d punched him with, running a thumb none too gently over Dick’s bottom lip, the other hand trailing lazily down his chest.

 

_Fuck._

 

Dick had been content to wait it all out; let them take their time pummeling him while he worked against the restraints binding his wrists behind the chair. Suddenly, though, he didn’t think waiting was such a good idea. Being an omega, and a person of decent intelligence, Dick could see where this was going. Of course, these guys didn’t know he was an omega thanks to his scent blockers, but if this escalated any further, they would be figuring it out soon.

 

Mind racing, now desperate for an escape, he continued to work against his restraints.

 

And right behind the now blinding panic making his heart beat a mile a minute, was _anger_. This should have been an easy mission. What had happened?

 

Well, he knew what had happened. He just didn’t know _why_.

 

Fighting some low-ranking thugs trying to transport stolen tech out of Gotham was practically an every-night occurence for Dick-- for Nightwing.

 

Tonight had been different.

 

Jenkins, obviously the goon in charge, had been the one to take Dick on when he’d come crashing through one of the warehouse windows. The guy had growled at an alpha pitch, trying to force Dick to back down.

 

After years of being a vigilante-- and a successful one, at that-- he’d figured people would know that that kind of stuff didn’t work on him. Yes, he was an omega doing something only alphas, and the occasional beta, really did. It had taken him years of training with Bruce to learn how to suppress his instincts; how to not only stand his ground against an alpha demanding submission, but how to fight a person of a designation biologically predisposed to greater strength than him, and win. Those first few years had been tough, with his body constantly screaming at him to _run_ and _submit_ and _placate_. On very rare occasions, it still happened, but it took a very certain type of alpha to bring Dick to heel.

 

Jenkins, being a common street thief hired to do some crime lord’s dirty work, was decidedly _not_ that type of alpha.

 

Originally, they’d just traded a few testing blows, Dick feeling out any glaringly obvious holes in Jenkins’ defenses. He’d found several, which wasn’t at all surprising. Dick had been primed to strike and end the fight before it even really began when Jenkins had let loose a particularly vicious growl-- a demanding noise that vibrated through the air and resonated in Dick’s chest-- snapping his crooked, yellow teeth as they circled each other, and Dick had… hesitated.  

 

He’d hesitated, and it had cost him the fight, his comm-- crushed beneath the foot of another thug-- and landed him zip tied to a chair and subjected to the hungry attention of _six_ _alphas_ , all of whom were intent on ‘teaching him a lesson’. It was practically a scene out of an omega gang bang porno.

 

They didn’t even know his designation, but Dick could smell the arousal and the aggression in the air. It turned his stomach watery and had adrenaline pumping through him so fast and hard that his hands started shaking.

 

Jenkins clearly noticed, huffing in amusement. “Just need a firm hand, is all. Ain’t that right? Gorgeous little thing like you needs to learn how to submit to his betters.”

 

Dick clamped down on the urge to snarl at that, redoubling his efforts to break the plastic holding him to the chair. He needed to get out, and he needed to do it _now_ before something truly bad happened.

 

When Jenkins realized the only response he was going to get was the barest curling of Dick’s upper lip, he smirked and tilted Dick’s head up with the hand still holding his chin. Clenching his jaw, Dick only tried to jerk away from the touch once before refocusing on the twist and pull of his wrists and ignoring the jeers and taunts the other thugs were throwing at him, goading Jenkins on.

 

He was starting to feel some give in the plastic of his bonds, but before he could even acknowledge that small relief, he saw where Jenkins' eyes had zeroed in. His blood ran cold.

 

“Now, what might this be?” Dick tried to bite at the hand that reached for his neck, squirming and fervently trying to pull his hands out of the restraints. He knew, in the back of his head, that he was showing his hand, practically telling this idiot his biggest secret through his reactions alone, but he couldn’t help the primal panic that surged through him when rough fingers tugged up the corner of his scent blocker.

 

Jenkins hummed thoughtfully. “Knew you were too pretty to be an alpha,” he said, leaning down to inhale deeply where Dick’s scent was now unfiltered.

 

With a throaty growl, Jenkins pressed his nose flush with Dick’s neck, one hand turning Dick’s head to the side to bare more of his throat, the other smoothing over the outside of his thigh with ugly, terrifying, _intent_.

 

Dick fought with every ounce of strength in his body, and though he couldn’t draw in a breathe deep enough to scream for help around the panic lodged in his throat, the chair started creaking and rocking with his violent movements. The plastic around his wrists started digging into his skin, even through his uniform, but the give was there. Dick just needed a little momentum to finally break through the ties.

 

When the tip of Jenkins’ tongue slid over the edge of his scent gland, Dick’s entire body jerked into the contact, completely out of his control. Jenkins growled lowly in response and increased the disgusting, wet contact.

 

Panic began clouding his thoughts, and Dick had never known fear as he did in the moment his body betrayed him.

 

With one final, violent, tug, he wrenched his wrists apart. Distantly, he realized that the plastic had ripped through his suit and skin, leaving two nasty gashes and blood dripping down the outsides of his hands.

 

He took a single second to reorient himself, and then he was moving, grabbing Jenkins by the hair and headbutting him, _hard_. He slumped to the ground, unconscious. The dull throb in his forehead helped Dick to center himself, to push down the confusion and fear that had been building in his chest all night.

 

From there, Dick’s body went on autopilot. He took out the remaining five thugs, made sure that all the boxes holding the stolen tech were in plain view, and then called the GCPD before making a hasty retreat.

 

It wasn’t till he was three buildings away from the warehouse, sirens screaming in the distance, that Dick let himself stop moving.

 

Chest heaving, hands shaking, Dick leaned his back against the brick of an alleyway dead end and slid down to be able to hang his head between his thighs without worrying about someone sneaking up on him. He could feel his eyes stinging with unshed tears. He tried to press the heels of his hands into them, to keep himself from crying, but his mask was in the way and the pressure wasn’t there. As he pulled his hands away, he saw the dried rivulets of blood staining his suit. For some reason that made him want to cry even more.

 

He drew in a deep, hitching breath, throat constricting. He was okay. He _was_ . Whatever those guys had wanted to do to him, they hadn’t. He had stopped them. He had fought them off. He had _won_.

 

So why did he feel like he’d lost?

 

“I’m okay,” Dick whispered to himself. “I’m okay. I’m okay. I’m okay.”

 

The litany repeated over and over in his head as he tried to reassure himself. Dick was so caught up in maintaining a minuscule amount of control over his labored breathing that he didn’t hear the sound of heavy steps approaching. He didn’t hear, or sense, that person crouching in front of him, or even calling out to him quietly; not at first.

 

It was only when a large hand skimmed over the top of his foot that Dick realized he wasn’t alone, and nearly jumped out of his skin. He tensed to fight, which made his smarting ribs ache sharply, and whipped his head up… but stalled at the sight of Slade Wilson in full Deathstroke regalia-- sans mask-- on his knees before him, brow creased in what Dick thought had to be concern.

 

“Kid, are you okay?” Slade’s already deep voice was pitched even lower. It was a classic comforting-alpha trick, and, _damn it_ , it worked. Dick felt the tense line of his shoulders loosen minutely and, subtly sniffing the air and scenting the legitimate concern coloring Slade’s scent, allowed himself to relax under the alpha’s attention.

 

Dick mustered up a smirk, a far cry from his trademark expression that cause his abused lip to leak blood and _sting_. “I’m fine,” he said, voice strained and cracking. Clearing his throat, he tried again with, “Just been a tough night.”

 

Slade’s single, ice blue eye scanned him from head to toe; it was a more professional once over than Dick was used to from Slade. Probably searching for an injury that would explain why Dick was sitting in an alley staving off tears. He’d had worse, though. The pain was manageable. 

 

Dick was about to explain that he’d just had a run in with a particularly nasty brand of street thug when he saw Slade’s attention snag on his neck. That’s when he realized he hadn’t fixed his scent blocker or pulled the neckline of his uniform up to cover the patch like he usually did.

 

Cursing himself, Dick’s hand flew to the side of his throat only to have his wrist caught in Slade’s much larger, steadier hand. It was more a suggestion than an actual grip, but Dick allowed it against his better judgement. He and Slade had an… intense history, but unless Dick was actively interfering with one of the mercenary’s jobs, or _was_ one of his jobs, Slade hadn’t ever really tried to harm him.

 

So, he let Slade lean forward; not intrusively close, but definitely close enough to get a whiff of Dick’s scent. Only the slight flaring of Slade’s nostrils gave away his surprise at Dick’s designation. Dick held himself still as the alpha reached up and, more gently than Dick had imagined Slade was capable of, smoothed down the corner of the scent blocking sticker and tugged the material of his suit up to disguise most of it.

 

Dick took in a deep breath when Slade straightened up a bit, and expected his wrist to be released. It wasn’t. Instead, Slade’s thumb traced small circles into the sliver of exposed skin where he still held Dick’s wrist, at the edge of one of the cuts from the zip ties, and murmured, “They hurt you.”

 

It wasn’t really a question, but the way he said it… Dick knew what Slade was trying to ask. He swallowed. Shook his head.

 

Again, his eyes strung; he made an angry noise, finally just ripping his mask off to scrub at his face. The skin his eyes burned from the adhesive ripping away, and if Bruce knew that he’d taken his mask off in public, Dick would be a dead man. But right now, in this dark corner with a man who already knew his identity, Dick couldn’t care less.

 

Slade silently watched, continuing the gentle swipe of his thumb. When Dick finally calmed down again, he asked quietly, _dangerously_ , “Do you want me to hurt them?”

 

Dick stared at him for a moment before an almost-hysterical giggle bubbled out of his mouth. Carefully, he extracted his wrist from Slade’s hand and levered himself into a more comfortable sitting position. “Yes, but no. Thank you for offering.” He smirked, the closest thing to a real smile he’d been able to manage in a while.

 

With a deep breath, he felt something deep in his chest settle. The next breath he drew came easier than the last.

 

To his surprise, Slade returned the smile with an up-tick of his own lips, small as it was.

 

With hands that hardly trembled, Dick put his domino back on, hesitating for only a moment before standing, too. Slade followed. They stood nearly chest to chest-- well, chest to face since Dick had to tilt his head back to make eye contact.

 

Just as Dick was readying to turn away with a parting line, the air became a little less relaxed. Slade’s jaw clenched and unclenched, exactly _once_ , and he might as well have been wearing a sign that said “I HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY” in neon letters.

 

Dick sighed. “Just say it.”

 

Arching a white brow, probably at how well Dick could read even his most subtle tells, Slade regarded him for a moment. His eyes flicked down to Dick's neck and back up to his face. It was enough to tell Dick what was about to happen. He braced himself for the “ _you shouldn’t be in this business, omega_ ” talk.

 

Which is why, when Slade said, “Your partner must be extremely satisfying,” Dick could do nothing but blink up at him.

 

“E-excuse me,” he finally sputtered out, losing his carefully constructed confidence for the second time in that night.

 

Amusement, sharp and cold, roiled in Slade’s eye. “Your partner. They must be very,” here, Slade paused for a second, before continuing, “diligent when seeing to your needs, for you to be able to stave off the instinct to submit so well.” His gaze slid down Dick’s body again, much more suggestively this time; it was a return to their normal exchanges that helped stabilize Dick even further.

 

Dick’s uncharacteristic silence spoke for him, and he saw when realization, and then smug victory, flashed across Slade’s face.

 

“Don’t tell me,” Slade rumbled, “that you’ve just been suppressing your urges all by yourself, pretty bird.” The alpha, and Slade _was_ an alpha in every sense of the word, took a half step forward. Dick pressed flat against the wall to keep any semblance of space between them.

 

For a moment, his mind flashed back to the warehouse, but this was _Slade_. He didn’t exactly trust the old mercenary, but he knew what to expect, what the man’s limits were, how to handle him. This was _safe_. Dick didn’t really feel like analyzing the fact that he felt safe crowded against a wall by Slade Wilson after the night he'd had.

 

Scoffing, Dick tossed his head, but very carefully didn’t deny it. Anything he said now would sound fake, _defensive_.

 

Slade’s eye narrowed. “Because, of course, that would be incredibly dangerous.” He didn’t elaborate, or ease out of his looming stance, just watched and waited for Dick to take the bait.

 

Which, of course, he did. “Dangerous?” he asked, brows scrunching together. “What do you mean by dangerous?”

 

Slade sighed indulgently, like he was explaining something to a child. “If an omega,” a pointed look at Dick, “were to ignore their instincts for an extended period of time, without a way to vent the biological need to submit, they may become hypersensitive to alpha pheromones and traits. It’s their body's way of trying to encourage them to do what should come naturally.” Slade’s hard mouth twisted in a mock of Dick’s usual smirk. “In our line of work, that might add up to quite the disaster. Wouldn’t you agree, Nightwing?”

 

Dick let himself entertain the thought, letting his mind chew on the fact that he hadn’t properly been knotted in… a long time. Plus, he’d hesitated tonight when Jenkins had growled at him. But then Dick reminded himself of all the times he’d faced off against alphas with pheromones ten times more potent than Jenkins; for fuck’s sake, he lived, worked and argued with _Bruce_ and hardly ever felt the need to truly submit.

 

With that thought in mind, he scoffed again and pushed off the wall, into Slade’s personal space. He held the alpha’s eye in a challenge most omegas wouldn’t even dream of. It soothed Dick’s nerves to rail against omegan expectations, to reassure himself that he _could_.

 

Slade’s upper lip barely curled up, starting to expose his teeth at the challenge.

 

“I’ve been doing this for a while now, Deathstroke,” he said flippantly, shouldering around the alpha and swaggering down the alley. “Your concern is touching, really, it is, but I know what I’m doing.”

 

Grapnel in hand, Dick aimed and was about to fire when Slade called from a few feet away, “If,” and Dick told himself he was imagining the inflection Slade put on the word, like he was actually saying _when_ , “you change your mind, and decide you need a helping hand, you know how to reach me, kid.”

 

Dick did. It wasn’t often that they worked together, but Slade sometimes had intel useful for a case and it had become a common enough occurrence to warrant a steady form of communication in the form of Slade’s work phone. It rubbed Dick the wrong way to have the murder hotline number plugged into his own phone, but it was a necessary evil.

 

Dick didn’t bother responding, just shot the grapnel towards the edge of the roof on his right and flew into the air, desperate to leave this night behind him.

 

*        *        *        *        *        *

 

For the most part, he managed pretty well with putting the whole “almost sexually assaulted by criminals” thing behind him.

 

Bruce hadn’t pushed for answers when Dick said his comm hadn’t survived the night, and his brothers mostly ignored how subdued he was for a few days after the incident. After that, things returned to normal.

 

Life was good. Until it wasn’t.

 

It had been nearly two months since his encounter with Slade, and Dick, Tim, Jason, and Bruce were on track to bring down one of the biggest drug rings in Gotham. They’d been following runners, gone under cover for evidence, and were poised to take the entire operation down in a single night with an ambush on a finally-discovered headquarters in the slum district.

 

On the roof of an abandoned building adjacent from the one they would soon be occupying, Dick’s blood was humming at the prospect of a fight. He and Jason crouched together, waiting for Bruce’s signal.

 

Jason was lounging against the cement edge of the roof, the glowing butt of his cigarette hanging from his teeth. Dick regarded him out of the corner of his eye with a soft, small smile.

 

“My heat is soon,” Jason said without preamble.

 

Dick pursed his lips and nodded. Their heats were usually synced, but because Jason had gone on an overseas mission, their cycles had fallen out of rhythm. They usually shared the three days or so days together, helping each other through the torture of hormone induced lust. Jason mistrusted alphas on basic principle, and Dick wasn’t willing to put up with the risks of being with an alpha when so much was at stake; it was a relationship of convenience.

 

Dick opened his mouth to ask whether his help was still wanted when Jason beat him to the punch.

 

“I think I’m gonna ask Tim to help me through it this time.”

 

Dick’s eyebrows climbed towards his hairline. He’d known Jason and Tim had gotten closer over the last few years, but share-a-heat close?

 

Whatever questions or arguments he might have made died on his tongue, though, when the tell-tale sound of gunfire sounded from inside the warehouse, causing both of their backs to straighten immediately. Jason dropped his cigarette and ground it out with the heel of his boot, eyes trained on the building across from them.

 

They waited another few seconds to see if Bruce would give the signal and leapt into action as dark smoke leaked from a broken window on the first floor. Dick let himself fall, twisted gracefully to get a good angle to fire his grapnel, and caught the momentum of the wire, using it to propel himself through his marked window like an arrow fired from a bow. There wasn’t much in the way of glass, so it was quieter than his typical window entrance.

 

As his feet met the concrete floor he ducked into a roll, coming up behind a stack of boxes for cover. The smoke bomb Bruce had thrown down was dissipating quickly, gunfire sounded a ways off, but Dick stayed hidden, listening for approaching footsteps.

 

It took a few minutes, but, finally, the gunfire grew louder and he could hear men cursing, heavy footfalls approaching his hiding spot. Jason was herding them towards Dick, as they had planned, trapping them between the two of them. When the gunmen were close enough, Dick silently drew his escrima from their sheaths across his back and rolled onto his toes.

 

Jason whistled-- a sharp, shrill note that cut through the chaotic noise of the fight-- and Dick lunged into the fray. There were about a dozen men with guns or knives now clustered between him and Jason, which made it a fairly even match. Jason was already picking men off, either with rubber bullets to the head from the gun in his left hand, or real bullets to the legs from the gun in his right hand. A few feet away, Dick could hear Bruce and Tim waging their own battles; he could  almost see the black shadow of Bruce in action out of his peripheral vision.

 

Dick caught the first two men by surprise, jamming the grips of his escrima into the back of their skulls, dropping them easily to the ground. The next saw him just as he was approaching and managed to pull the trigger twice before Dick got inside his defenses and slammed his fist-- escrima and all-- across the guy’s jaw.

 

The other three men nearest to Dick at last realized what was happening, and turned to him, weapons raised. He smirked, falling into position and raising his own weapons before launching forward in a flurry of motion, disarming the man with the gun and landing a solid blow to the ribs of another; the feeling of bone shifting beneath the metal of the escrima was familiar, but still a little unsettling. The two other men gathered themselves and converged on him simultaneously. With a powerful snap of his leg, Dick left one of them sprawling on the ground, barely able to breathe, and turned just in time to block the swipe of a dangerous looking knife from the other.

 

At the fringe of his attention, Dick saw that Jason had taken down his half of the men and was meticulously binding all of their hands, guns holstered and helmet not even scratched.

 

That moment of acknowledging his brother’s safety was the only reprieve Dick had; the next moment, that knife was again swiping for his face, and he was having to dedicate his focus to finding a way through the man’s defenses, past the knife, to end the fight. The guy was putting up a decent fight, but eventually Dick got in a glancing blow to the hand holding the wickedly curved blade, knocking it from the guy’s grip and skittering across the floor.

 

With no weapon left, the guy raised his fists in front of his face, spitting out a throaty, “Come and get it, bitch,” followed by a deep, _snarling_ , growl that left a familiar twist in Dick’s stomach.

 

Suddenly, the world seemed to tilt on its axis, everything somehow brighter. Dick felt his arms lower a fraction as he blinked, mind completely blank. He watched, uncomprehending, as the guy lunged for his throat. It was like someone had stuffed cotton into his head-- he… he couldn’t think, couldn't move. Didn’t even _want_ to.

 

The guy crashed into Dick, sending them both to the ground. Dick lost his grip on his escrima, felt his breath leave him as his back hit the concrete with a solid sound; the guy’s hands were wrapped firmly around his throat within a second, bearing down.

 

Distantly, Dick heard someone shout, “Nightwing!”

 

Then the pressure on his neck was gone, and he was gasping for air, the world coming back into sharp focus. He sat up so quickly a wave of nausea rolled through him, and took a moment to reorient himself. His attacker now lay unconscious at Jason’s feet.

 

Jason, who was staring at him, hood clutched tightly to his chest; the smell of omegan fear permeated the air without the helmet keeping his scent contained.

 

Dick turned his head and looked up at the sound of footfalls-- at Bruce, whose fury and confusion was evident even through the cowl. Tim, realizing Bruce was just going to stand there, hurried forward, offering Dick a hand up. He stared at that hand for a moment before taking it, letting the slight alpha pull him to his feet.

 

Ignoring Bruce’s heavy gaze, and the stares of his silent teammates, Dick moved to gather his fallen weapons, tucking them back into their holsters. He was just starting towards the fallen thugs, to start binding their hands, when the mounting tension reached a breaking point.

 

“What was that?” Bruce asked quietly, voice deceptively calm. Dick was close enough to Jason at that point to feel him flinch at the alpha tone-- the demand in it. Spine straightening, Dick looked over his shoulder.

 

A long ways away, sirens wailed.

 

“It was nothing,” he said dismissively, hoping Bruce would let it go.

 

“That was _not_ nothing.” Of course not.

 

Dick closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and turned to fully face the Batman, picking his words carefully. “I could have handled it.”

 

“All evidence to the otherwise,” Bruce ground out. “With the way you reacted, he could have killed you.”

 

Dick snorted, which made his bruised throat ache, taking a step forward. “Come on, B, no--”

 

“ _Yes_.” And this time, the alpha tone was so obvious that even Tim stiffened, gravitating towards Jason, whose face had gone pale. Dick stayed very still, eyes trained on his alpha. “That was unacceptable, Nightwing. Explain what just happened.” Every word was said with steel, no room for argument; every word sunk into Dick’s chest like a bullet shot at point blank range.

 

 _“Unacceptable?”_ Dick thought. He hadn’t done it on purpose. He hadn’t meant to drop his guard, to practically offer his throat to the guy--

 

Oh. Oh, _no_. Not again. That… that couldn’t be what had happened?

 

He wasn’t even sure that guy had been an _alpha_ , and Dick had let one deep throated growl smash through every one of his meticulous, supposedly impenetrable defenses. Slade’s voice rang loud and clear in Dick’s head.

 

And, just like that, Dick was on the verge of tears. Dick’s body might be betraying him, might be trying to force him to submit in the middle of fights, and… and… maybe it was his fault. Bruce was disappointed in him, was _angry_ with him, on top of it all, and right then, that was more than Dick could handle.

 

He knew his body language was giving him away, heard Jason whine sympathetically behind him, and felt more than saw Bruce shift uncomfortably at the sudden shift in atmosphere.

 

When Dick spoke, he sounded just as wrecked as he felt. “I-I’m sorry, B.”

 

Tim was murmuring soothingly to Jason, sweet things that, on any other day, would have instantly drawn Dick’s attention to the pair.

 

Bruce didn’t respond, and the lack of reaction had Dick biting back a sob. When he realized his knees were practically knocking together with how badly he wanted to drop to the ground and beg for his alpha's forgiveness, he finally let out a small, pitiful noise that set his stomach to churning.

 

He couldn’t take it anymore. He had to get away.

 

Without thinking, Dick took three long strides towards the window he’d entered through and fired his grapnel, ignoring the calls of his teammates and sailing into the cool Gotham night and away from his worst nightmare come to life.  

 

 

Dick made a beeline for his most discreet safe house.

 

Once he was inside, and the security system had been reactivated, the first thing he did was switch his cell phone, comm, and homing device off.

 

Properly enabled to ignore his family, he showered, ate, tried to watch TV, desperate to keep his mind from wandering, from actually thinking about what had happened. What it meant.

 

When sunrise was only a couple hours away, Dick finally broke.

 

He sat down and turned his phone back on, pointedly not reading at any of the many, _many_ messages, and googled what Slade had so bluntly described to him all those weeks ago. It was time to find out if there was any merit behind what the mercenary had claimed.  

 

To Dick’s rising horror, Slade had been right.

 

The condition even had a name-- Omega Submission Deprivation. It was most typical in omegas who had gone through puberty where it wasn't safe to submit, like in abusive households or on the streets. Dick's mind immediately went to Jason, who had always been more naturally submissive and responsive to alphas than Dick, but he dismissed the thought as soon as it crossed his mind. Dick had tried more than once to bring up Jason's childhood, encouraged his brother to talk about what he'd experienced, only to be denied, _vehemently_ , every time. After only a moment's hesitation, Dick linked Jason to the most informative and basic of the articles he'd read, but didn't have high hopes that his brother would even read what he'd sent after reading the headlines; then he got back to figuring out what the hell might be wrong with _him_.

 

Dick read for hours, and realized that… yeah, he had a problem. And, apparently, that problem was just going to get worse, Dick’s body becoming more and more sensitive to alpha pheromones until he couldn’t help but crave submission.

 

With the life he lived, that thought was terrifying. Even more terrifying, though, was that if Dick really thought about it, he… already did. In a way.

 

It was one of his favorite fantasies, one that he consistently used to get himself off-- thinking about an alpha holding him down, _forcing_ him to submit, and knotting him. Dick just hadn’t realized those cravings and urges were his body’s way of telling him something was wrong.

 

A throbbing headache pounded at the base of Dick’s skull, exhaustion tugging at his eyelids. But there was still one thing he needed to do before he went to bed; before he lost his nerve.

 

A few clicks later, he had his phone pressed against his ear. Dick gnawed on his fingernails while the call connected, but it only took two rings, even at five in the morning, for Slade to answer.

 

“Pretty bird,” the alpha said. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

 

Exhaling through his nose, Dick prayed he wasn’t putting the proverbial last nail in his own coffin. “Slade I... “ he paused, steeled his nerves, and finished, “I need your help.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some description of watersports in this chapter, so please be aware and prepared for that! 
> 
> Alright, so this one kind of got away from me lol. It took a lot longer to write than I assumed, but that's because it ended up being about 2,000 words longer than anticipated! I hope that it was worth the wait y'all. Let me know what you think in the comments.

Things were… not better, but as close to normal as Dick’s situation would allow.

 

Explaining to Bruce, his alpha, his _father_ , that the reason he’d almost died during that ambush was because he hadn’t gotten laid in several months had definitely been an experience. Dick did his best to only lay out the bare bones of the situation, mostly to stave off any undue concern, but also because Dick knew the alpha would blame himself. Bruce had been the one to teach him to suppress his instincts, to essentially ignore his body, but how could Bruce have known? So, he decided just to leave the details out.

 

Bruce, to his credit, didn’t make things any more awkward than they already were; he’d just nodded his head, mouth set in a grim line, and told Dick to, “take care of it.”

 

Dick thought that Bruce probably didn’t mean he should call up one of the most notorious mercenaries in the world, someone they hardly considered an ally on the best of days, and ask to hook up. But he’d had already asked Slade to ‘help’ him-- to give Dick the opportunity to submit to an alpha he knew, in this situation, could be trusted-- so there was no going back now.  

 

 _That_ conversation had also been short because he could hardly stomach Slade’s smug comments. Mostly, they’d just established that this would not, under any circumstances, change Nightwing and Deathstroke’s working relationship. Slade had asked for Dick’s safe word and, when he was finished laughing that Dick had picked “Robin,” said that he’d be in contact soon with the details of their meet up, and promptly ended the call.   

 

Dick had waited. Apparently, his definition of ‘soon’ was different than Slade’s.

 

It had been a week, and Dick hadn’t been contacted _once_. After the first twenty-four hours, he decided that waiting around wasn’t going to fix anything, so he’d gone back to work.

 

Only small cases, though, since he didn’t want to risk another incident, but he still patrolled and trained during the day with the family. All while apprehension churned in his stomach more and more every day that he didn’t hear from Slade.

 

He had woken up that morning-- the morning of the seventh day-- feeling like he was going to throw up. What if Slade had decided it would benefit him more to just sell the fact that Nightwing was an omega to an interested party? What if he’d decided that hooking up with Dick would be a mistake?

 

His nauseous uncertainty persisted all day, coupled with a restless energy that was beginning to annoy even him. After several jittery, wasted hours in the Bat Cave, Bruce had finally ordered him and a reluctant Tim to spar while he finished skimming the security cam footage for the case they were working.

 

The idea of using his fists to vent his frustration and nerves had Dick out of his chair in a second, dragging Tim along behind him. As they both stretched and meticulously wrapped their hands, Dick had to wonder if fighting an alpha right now was counterproductive to solving his condition. Shaking his head, he dismissed the idea; it was just sparring, after all. It wouldn’t hurt him.

 

Slade not answering, on the other hand? That was both hurting his chances of getting back in the field, _and_ pissing him off.

 

Tim only cocked a brow at the anger he could see, if not feel, behind each of Dick’s delivered blows, but didn’t back down or reprimand him like Bruce might have. No, his little brother just smirked wickedly and met Dick punch for punch, kick for kick, for as long as Dick pushed him. They went at it for long enough that, when they finally stopped, sweat was dripping in thick drops down both of their faces and exposed chests.  

 

He and Tim sat together on the edge of the matt, gulping down water and air in equal amounts. It was quiet, except for the sloshing of their bottles and their labored breaths. That companionable peace continued for a few minutes, his frustration worked down to a manageable force, until Tim gently knocked his knee against Dick’s.

 

“You’re gonna be okay,” Tim said, voice quiet but sure.

 

Dick smiled a little, wiping more sweat off of his forehead. “I hope so,” he said, and his honesty surprised even him. He’d meant to say something snarky-- something to lighten the mood and soothe Tim’s nerves. He hadn’t meant to voice his doubt.

 

Tim turned steady light blue eyes up to him. “You’re gonna be just fine, Dick.” Then he looked away, long hair falling into his face as he started tugging the tape off of his hands.

 

Dick watched him for a moment, brows pinched together. He said it with such surety, like he already knew it as truth; to Dick’s ears, it sounded like assurance from someone with experience. _That_ thought brought up about a thousand others, but before he could voice any of them, his phone chimed that he’d received a new text message.

 

It was useless to get his hopes up; he’d already gone through this countless times in the last week, rushing to the phone, positive it was going to be Slade, only to be disappointed. Still, Dick hurried over to where he’d left his cell phone, keyed in his passcode, and opened up his messages.

 

For a moment, he forgot how to breathe.

 

At the top of the list of conversations, was a new text from Slade. With shaking fingers, he clicked it open.

 

The first line was an address for Gotham Heights, though not one he recognized off the top of his head.

 

The second was a simple message: _7pm. Pack a bag. Come rested and well hydrated._

 

While Dick was trying to keep his heart rate under control imagining what he’d need a change of clothes for, his phone chimed again, vibrating in his hands.

 

_Don’t forget your safeword._

 

At that point, he was past controlling his heart and had moved onto just keeping it in his chest. God, this was really happening. He was really going to let Slade fuck him.

 

No, not just fuck him-- he was going to let Slade _dominate_ him.

 

Closing his eyes, Dick took a deep breath and pushed down the wave of panic inducing thoughts attempting to drown him. He knew what he was doing; he had asked Slade to do this because he trusted him. And, Dick reassured himself, if things went tits up, he could always fight his way out.

 

Dick checked the time on his phone and realized with a start that it was already five, and he only had a couple hours to get a bag together, shower, and make his way to the address Slade had sent him. Placing his phone back on the bench, he quickly started picking the tape off his hands.

 

“Hey, Timmy,” he said casually. “Think you could cover my patrol for the night?” Tim glanced up from where he was scrolling through his own phone, a mischievous gleam lighting up his eyes.

 

“Yeah, Dick,” Tim said, smiling impishly. “Sure.” Dick decided to ignore the fact that his little brother knew what he was taking the night off to do, if not the person he planned on doing it _with_ , and gathered his stuff.

 

He threw a thank you over his shoulder as he made his way out of the cave, followed closely by Tim’s muffled, “Have a good time, Dick.”

 

*        *        *        *        *        *

 

Dick stared up at the towering white hotel from across the street, scowling.

 

Could Slade have picked a more conspicuous place to meet? Dick had to be careful of paparazzi and tabloids, and Slade _knew_ that; why did he have to choose the most celebrity-prefered hotel in Gotham?

 

If Bruce caught wind of this through a teen magazine, Dick may never live it down. He may not _live_ at all.

 

He’d assumed-- _hoped--_ that the address Slade had sent him would be for an apartment building, a safehouse, or… something that wasn’t a five star luxury resort in the middle of Gotham Heights.

 

Watching people come and go through the golden revolving doors, Dick contemplated leaving-- going home and coming up with another plan to satisfy his needs.

 

Even the thought of letting an alpha besides Slade near him in this type of situation had his stomach turning over. Maybe it wasn’t smart, maybe Bruce would _actually_ kill him if he knew, but Dick trusted Slade Wilson; trusted the mercenary’s weird honor code, and his fondness for Dick. Slade had been the person he had immediately thought of when trying to come up with a solution for all of this, and despite the fact that ignoring his instincts had gotten Dick into this situation, he _did_ trust his gut.

 

Sighing heavily, Dick hoisted the strap of his mostly empty duffle bag higher on his shoulder and crossed the street. He tried to be discreet, keeping his head ducked and eyes glued on the concrete in front of him, walking as quickly as he could without drawing attention; there were no camera flashes or pointed fingers, so Dick assumed he hadn't been noticed.

 

Still, he didn’t relax until he was standing in front of the huge marble concierge desk. The woman sitting behind said desk eyed Dick’s light wash jeans, black sweater, and mussed hair with not-quite-disguised distaste.

 

When she caught Dick’s eye she smiled blandly. “Can I help you, sir?”

 

“Yes,” he said, flashing one of his more charming smiles. “I’m here to see Mr. Wilson.” He knew better than to think Slade had used his real-- and recognizable-- first name to make the reservation.

 

“You must be Robin, then,” she said, pulling out a key card and handing it to him. He fought to keep the annoyance at the nickname off of his face, and the clear reminder of why he was here, nodding. “Here you are, sir, and Mr. Wilson said to send you up as soon as you arrived. Twelfth floor, room number twenty-eight.”

 

Dick thanked her, and made his way over to the massive elevators on the other side of the room. He had to swipe the card to call the elevator, but it only took a few seconds for it to arrive.

 

As the floor numbers slowly ticked by, Dick’s palms started sweating.

 

Inwardly, he laughed at himself; he was acting like a nervous teenager about to lose his virginity on prom night. He’d been with a few alphas before, and, he kept telling himself, he could handle Slade. Everything was fine.

 

None of his self-assurances actually calmed his growing nervousness, and Dick was grateful no one else was there to see him jump when the elevator _dinged_ his arrival at the twelfth floor.

 

Stepping out into the decadent hall, Dick checked the time. Nearly seven thirty; he was late. For a moment, he worried that Slade would be annoyed at his tardiness. Then he remembered he’d waited a week for Slade to call him back, and took his sweet time meandering towards the room Slade had rented out.

 

For the explicit purpose of having sex-- with him.

 

Dick started sweating again a few doors down from his destination. Almost compulsively, he ran his hands through his hair and tugged at the hem of his shirt. His bag felt like it weighed a hundred pounds, and he didn’t know if the lights had been blindingly bright when he got out of the elevator, but he had to stop himself from squinting when his fist hovered above room twenty-eight’s door.  

 

Swallowing thickly, Dick knocked twice, and then waited. He didn’t even have time to shuffle his feet before the heavy white door was swinging open.

 

Slade smirked out at him. He wore a white button up shirt, which was tucked into form fitting black slacks, and artfully rolled up to his elbows. Very carefully, Dick kept his breathing even.

 

Without saying a word, Slade swept an arm into the room, beckoning Dick inside. Dick rolled his eyes at the bravado, but stepped in anyways.

 

With intentionally graceful, controlled, strides, Dick made a show of looking over the decently sized living area the entryway opened up into. Everything was just as lavish as the rest of the place had been, decorated in creams and whites and varying shades of gold; it wasn’t unlike the other top-tier hotels he’d stayed at with Bruce, the layout almost identical.

 

He felt Slade’s presence at his back the whole time, could smell the alpha pheromones slowly permeating the space around them.

 

Plunking his bag down, Dick turned to smirk up at Slade, a comment about the mercenary’s blood money buying the room on the tip of his tongue. Then he saw the way Slade was watching him, and felt very distinctly like a lamb who’d just wandered into a wolf’s den. Every thought in his head promptly vanished.

 

Dick’s lips stayed slightly parted as he watch Slade’s every move. The silence between them persisted for a heart beat.

 

Still without speaking, Slade stepped forward and inserted himself into Dick’s space like he belonged there and reached towards Dick’s throat. Dick made to jerk away, working mostly on muscle memory. Slade sighed, but his hand veered away from Dick’s throat and towards his face instead; rough, calloused fingertips barely grazed his cheek, but gradually became more solid pressure against Dick’s flushed skin. Slade held his gaze as the seconds went by, gaze half lidded and so _intense_ that Dick realized with a lurching feeling deep in his gut that, no, he could not fight his way out of this. And that was the whole point.

 

Slowly, telegraphing his movements, Slade dragged his hand from Dick’s cheek, to his jaw, and then, centimeter by centimeter, down to the side of his throat. Some long dormant part of Dick urged him stay very, _very_ still while Slade’s fingers pressed against his scent gland and the patch covering it.

 

Slade maintained eye contact-- the intense look remained in his eye, but he lifted a questioning brow.

 

Dick inhaled deeply, and nodded once.

 

The skin beneath the scent blocker was naturally sensitive, and stung as Slade slowly peeled the sticker away. Neither of them moved beyond the slight flaring of Slade’s nostrils as Dick’s scent reached him.

 

Finally, Slade said, “You’re late, pretty bird.” A small smirk, and then, “I’m sure the Bat taught you better manners than that. Or did he decide they were just as unimportant as your health?”

 

Dick hardened his eyes, pulling his upper lip back from his teeth, and said with as much force as he could manage, “Don’t talk about my alpha like tha--”

 

A growl cut Dick off mid sentence, so loud and vicious it made his ears ring. Before Dick could even blink, he was being bodily lifted and pressed forcefully against the nearest wall staring up into Slade’s eye, made glacier cold with anger. A moment later, the pheromones caught up with him; Dick’s head swam with how strong they were-- how demanding, how _overpowering_.

 

Slade’s hand loosely framed his neck, ensuring Dick could look nowhere but into his face as he said, “Wayne is not your alpha. As soon as you walked into this room, _I_ became your alpha.” Dick gasped for breath as his own hormones flooded through him like a dam had broken, trying to match Slade’s pheromone level and appeal to the alpha now looming over him.

 

“Do you know what that means?” Dick could feel his instincts screaming in the back of his head, urging him to placate the obviously angry alpha. And, logically, Dick knew he wasn’t in any danger. But with a hormone induced haze descending over his mind, and those alpha pheromones shoving their way up his nose and scrambling his thoughts until all he could think was _submit_ on a loop, it was all Dick could do to shake his head no in answer and bring his hands up to grip Slade’s forearm. “You don’t know what that means?” Slade asked lowly, hand tightening a fraction around his throat in response to Dick’s hold on his arm. Dick squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head again. Internally, he was fighting tooth and nail to keep even this much control over himself; if he didn’t hold on, he knew for a fact he’d fall to his knees and beg Slade for forgiveness. “It means,” Slade breathed into his ear, “that you are _mine_.”

 

A full body shiver had Dick shaking in Slade’s hands. Whimpering through his teeth, Dick dug his fingers more firmly against Slade’s arm, trying desperately to ground himself. It felt like he was hanging onto the edge of a cliff by his fingernails-- he was terrified of what might happen if he let go. If he let himself fall.

 

He felt Slade breathe against his neck, near his scent gland, and shook harder. “Don’t fight it, kid,” the alpha whispered, almost against the skin of his throat. “I’ve got you. Let go.”

 

It took Dick longer than he’d readily admit to process the fact that Slade, instead of coaxing him into submission like he had been expecting, had just manhandled him into a situation where his instincts would take over and submission would be the _only_ answer.

 

Despite everything, though, Dick couldn’t help but hang on-- couldn’t help but want to stay in control. Slade, apparently, sensed Dick’s continued hesitation and closed the hand around his throat tightly. The hold was a clear sign of dominance, and it sent a jolt of _something_ straight through Dick that had his legs turning to jelly. To emphasize the power difference he’d had just established, Slade growled at an alpha pitch, close enough that the air practically vibrated, firmly pressing of his thumb against Dick’s scent gland.

 

Dick’s control slipped through his fingers like it had never existed in the first place.

 

He fell off that cliff head first, only to be caught up in a wave of pure _instinct_ that, indeed, had him sliding to his knees. Slade supported him on the way down, letting Dick settle gently against the plush carpet instead of falling like he would have without the alpha’s hands on his neck and upper arm. His head hung forward between his shoulders, exposing the back of his neck to Slade.

 

A deep, persistent rumble pierced the thick instinctual and hormonal fog inside Dick’s head, guiding him back up to the surface of his mind.

 

The first thing he registered was the concentration of scent and pheromones. But it wasn’t Slade’s. It was his-- the overwhelming smell of his submission and something even more pungent that was nearly choking him. Dick shifted on his knees, and that’s when he heard the squish of the carpet beneath him. That noise, along with the dampness he was feeling around his knees and crotch, and the smell… Dick’s eyes flew open.

 

“Oh, God.” He’d _pissed himself_. Dick had only ever read about omegas doing that-- it was supposed to be a last resort, a form of submission that implied complete surrender of control. Jesus, Slade must think he’s pathetic. “I-I’m sorry. I-I… I don’t-” His thoughts were still so muddled, he couldn’t even apologize right. What was wrong with him?

 

The grip on his neck tightened for a second before gentling again, drawing Dick’s gaze to Slade. He found that he couldn't quite make eye contact with the alpha, though; he stared at Slade's chest, but couldn't even begin to force himself to lift his eyes in defiance of his instincts, like he usually would, when he had urine soaking the floor under him. The best he could do was watch Slade through his peripheral vision.

 

Slade was regarding him with an oddly soft expression. “It’s alright, little one,” he said. The timbre of his voice was low and rumbling, so comforting that Dick found himself leaning forward to try and press against the alpha; he didn’t even mind the nickname. He stopped when the carpet made another disgusting noise, and felt his cheeks burn with shame. Dick opened his mouth to apologize again, but Slade was already saying, “It’s okay,” and rubbing his thumb over Dick’s scent gland in gentle strokes. Again, Dick found himself leaning into Slade’s touch, eyes fluttering closed. “I expected something like this to happen. It’s okay.”

 

 _That_ had Dick’s nose scrunching up. Making a small noise of confusion, he pried his eyes open.

 

“You expected this?” he asked, voice small. Dick wasn’t sure why, but the thought had tears springing to his eyes, spilling down his cheeks in fat drops.

 

Slade made another rumbling noise, and, without warning, leaned forward to scoop Dick into his arms. In any other situation, Dick would have been squirming to be put down, especially since he was covered in his own piss, for God’s sake.

 

However, with Slade guiding Dick’s face into the crook of his neck, to press his nose against Slade’s scent gland, and the alpha’s impossibly strong arms holding him against his broad, muscular chest… it was the safest Dick had felt in years.

 

“I knew this would be hard for you, pretty bird,” was all Slade offered in explanation.

 

Vaguely, Dick registered that they were moving but couldn’t bring himself to pull away from his spot against the warmth of the alpha’s skin. Dick, for the first time he could remember, even with Bruce, lost himself in the scent and feel of an alpha, and felt something inside him slide into place like a puzzle piece he hadn’t even known he’d lost. He sighed happily and pressed his face more firmly into Slade’s neck.

 

Slade chuckled, and Dick felt it more than heard it.

 

“Can you stand?” the alpha asked quietly. Glancing up, Dick realized that Slade had carried him into the bedroom and was waiting to set him down next to the ridiculously oversized bed in the center of the room. When Dick nodded, Slade slowly lowered him until his feet touched the floor, keeping a grip on his shoulders until he stopped swaying. Dick’s gratitude for the support was overshadowed when the hands holding him up began sliding towards his hips and Dick felt something a little less innocent stir in his gut.

 

Piece by piece, Slade systematically undressed Dick.

 

He tugged Dick’s soft black sweater over his head and tossed it away blindly, and then crouched down to remove first one of Dick’s shoes, and then the other. Getting his pants off was mortifying, but Slade didn’t complain as he peeled Dick’s soaking jeans and boxers over his hips and then down and off his legs; Dick braced his hands on the alpha’s shoulders to keep from toppling over, and the quiet voice in his head, gaining volume all the time, whispered continuously about what a good alpha Slade was being, that Bruce never cared for him like this.

 

Slade blessedly left to put his wet clothes in the bathtub, giving Dick a brief moment to breathe and reorient his thoughts.

 

By the time his groggy brain finally processed that he was bared and vulnerable in a room with an alpha, the bathroom door was clicking closed again. Dick had to crane his neck to look into Slade’s face; he managed to hold Slade’s eye for all of thirty seconds before dropping his gaze back to the alpha’s chest.  

 

Pushing lightly at his chest with a scarred hand, Slade walked Dick backwards until the backs of Dick’s knees hit the mattress. With a little more prompting, Dick found himself laid out on the bed, completely naked, with Slade between his thighs. Dick fisted his hands in the plush duvet, hoping it hid how his fingers were shaking.

 

His breath hitched in his throat when Slade caught his eye and, almost reverently, began wiping down Dick’s thighs with a soft, damp washcloth.

 

It didn’t feel sexual; Dick just felt… cared for. Treasured in a way he hadn’t felt in as long as he could remember. Probably since Bruce had first found him, and he’d just been a lost kid and a  pack-less omega.

 

The touch of the washcloth to the sensitive skin of his inner thigh jarred Dick from his thoughts, making him tense up at the intimate touch. Slade bent forward, pressing a kiss to his hip, the trimmed white hair of his beard scraping lightly against his skin, rumbling quietly. Dick’s body went pliant and loose at the sound. Even Bruce couldn’t reach such a low timbre, and it felt like a blanket was wrapping around Dick’s mind, soothing him from the inside out.

 

As Dick relaxed, Slade’s touch returned-- bolder this time. Dick closed his eyes and let himself enjoy it-- let himself be lulled by the rhythm of the gentle ministrations.

 

He could have laid there for hours, letting Slade quietly, carefully, groom him-- and that’s exactly what was happening, Dick knew that. It was why he was a step away from purring, why the gentle scrape of the cloth against his skin nearly had his back arching in contentment; his omegan need for attention was being satisfied at the most primal level.

 

When the feel of the washcloth left his skin, Dick had to bite back a whine. He’d just managed to crack open his eyes when Slade’s solid weight had the mattress dipping as he moved to settle next to Dick.

 

At some point, while Dick was too hormone-drunk to notice, Slade had unbuttoned his shirt and removed his pants, shoes, and socks, and as Slade made himself comfortable on his side to face Dick, head propped up on a hand, Dick marveled at all the revealed skin. He was so used to interacting with Slade when he was dressed as Deathstroke that seeing the broad expanse of his chest, and the white hair that dusted his pecs, as well as the formerly invisible scars on his torso, was transfixing.

 

Of course, Slade caught him staring. Chuckling, he reached down and untangled Dick’s hand from the bedding, guiding it to rest on his chest and holding it there. Dick could feel the alpha’s heart, beating strong and steady, under his palm-- Dick knew that if he pressed his ear against Slade’s chest, he’d fall asleep to sound of that heartbeat, and stay that way until someone woke him up-- and the interesting texture of Slade’s chest hair, unconsciously curling his fingers into it.

 

Slade pulled away to rest his hand against Dick’s stomach-- shyly, Dick glanced up at the alpha through his eyelashes, not sure if his touch was still allowed. Slade smirked and swiped his thumb over the smooth skin just below Dick’s bellybutton; he shivered, but took the touch as the permission it was and turned his attention back to the alpha’s bared chest.

 

He was so focused on the way Slade’s muscles contracted when he lightly skimmed his nails over the taut muscle over his ribs, that he didn’t process that the hand laying on his stomach was creeping lower. That only lasted until Slade firmly took Dick’s cock in hand.

 

Gasping-- he hadn’t even realized he was half hard, but with the influx of hormones he shouldn’t have been surprised-- Dick’s eyes snapped down to where Slade was slowly, _so_ slowly, working his hand up and down the shaft of his cock. Dick watched as he was slowly worked to full hardness, feeling Slade’s attention on his face but unwilling to tear his eyes away from how his cock-- about five inches in length, which was well above average for an omega-- rhythmically disappeared into Slade’s fist, and unable to hold the alpha’s eye anyway.

 

It didn’t take long for Dick to start feeling heat pool in his belly. On an up-stroke, Slade twisted his hand _just_ right, and Dick made a noise in the back of his throat, scrunching his eyes closed; Slade hummed at his response and twisted his hand on every stroke, making Dick squirm. He could feel the alpha’s breath puffing against his ear and neck, pheromones heavy in the air.

 

After a few more strokes, Slade’s hand pulled away, and Dick couldn’t help the pathetic sounding whine that came out of his mouth. Immediately, Slade was pressed firmly against his side, cooing soothingly and dragging his nose against Dick’s cheek, inhaling deeply.

 

Dick opened his eyes, finally, when Slade pressed a kiss to his forehead, looking up at the alpha hovering over him.

 

“You remember your safe word?” Dick shivered, but nodded. “Good.”

 

Then Slade’s mouth was on his, tongue shoving its way past the seam of Dick’s lips. He gasped, reaching to hold onto Slade’s shoulders, but his wrists were caught up by one of Slade’s hands and pinned in the same breath. He strained against the hold wanting to touch, to take like Slade was taking, but a rough growl had those thoughts flying from his mind.  

 

They kissed until Dick had to turn away to catch his breath, and Slade fixed his attention on the bared side of Dick’s throat. When Slade’s mouth found his scent gland all the air he’d managed to suck back into his lungs whooshed back out. His hips jerked up on reflex and his eyes crossed as Slade nibbled and sucked on the gland, arousal shooting like lightening down to his cock, and lower.

 

As if sensing that, Slade shifted suddenly, kneeling over Dick’s thighs while still pinning his wrists over his head and trailed his free hand down Dick’s chest. A moan, unchecked, bubbled out of his mouth when Slade thumbed at one of his nipples; he snapped his mouth shut, embarrassed at how loud he was being already. The sound spurred the alpha on, had him increasing the pressure, and even leaning down to take the other nub into his mouth, rolling it gently between his teeth.

 

The feeling of being held down, coupled with the teasing touches to his chest, had heat building behind Dick’s eyes. His thoughts were so scrambled that the only thing Dick could clearly think was: _more_.

 

He hadn’t realized he’d said it out loud until Slade rumbled out a pleased sound against his skin, which ripped a strangled whimper from Dick, and said, “Alright, little one. I’ll give you more.”

 

Dick trembled as Slade’s fingers pinched and flicked at the already sensitive skin of his nipples, overstimulated, but still whined as Slade took his hand away.

 

He shouldn’t have worried, though, because that hand reappeared a moment later in between his legs, passing his cock and making for the dripping entrance just behind his testicles. One of Slade’s thick fingers swiped slowly across his pink, sensitive, folds and Dick felt a gush of slick rush out of him. The sweet smell of his lubricant reached Slade a moment later, and, with a throaty growl, that same finger was pressing into him. Throwing his head back, Dick bit back a whimper, shoulders shaking. With the way Slade was pressed against him, holding his hands down, all he could do was take it and feel every callous on the hand Slade cupped between his legs.

 

Dick’s body accepted the intrusion greedily, opening for it almost immediately, more slick rushing out of him to ease the way in. Seemingly in reward, Slade’s mouth returned to lick and suckle at his nipples while patiently, but not slowly, working that finger in and out of his cunt.

 

The dual sensations were all consuming. Dick could feel himself trembling, back arching into Slade’s mouth, hips pushing down onto the finger buried inside of him; even though he was overwhelmed he still wanted more. Something primal was niggling at the back of his mind, making the stretch of a second finger added too quickly feel perfect instead of painful.

 

It had been a while since Dick had had _anything_ inside of him, let alone the fingers of an alpha, and Slade was reaching places inside of him that were lighting him on fire. Being so full, feeling the weight of an alpha only inches above him, had Dick hovering on the edge of coming before Slade could add a third finger.

 

His walls started fluttering around the fingers rhythmically stretching him open, prepping his body to take a knot, and Slade understood before Dick could even say a word. Slade pulled his fingers-- now dripping slick-- out of Dick and wrapped his thumb and forefinger around Dick’s cock and held tightly, helping to stave off the mounting wave of his impending orgasm.

 

He hadn’t wanted to come before Slade had fucked him, but still, he nearly wept at being denied. Dick thrust his hips up, only to have Slade bring them back to the bed with a firm hand.

 

Slade’s mouth was set in a smirk when he asked, “Already so wound up, pretty bird?” And usually Dick would have a snide comment ready to fire back, but tonight all he could do was nod and moan, tugging on the hand still restraining his wrists.

 

Tutting, Slade slid his fingers back into Dick’s hole and crooked them up, just to hear Dick’s choked off whine and see him writhe against the sheets. After a lingering look at Dick’s pink, pert, nipples, the alpha opted to stay partially sitting up so that he could watch as he fingered Dick.

 

Somehow, that was almost worse.

 

The smirk was gone from Slade’s face, replaced by a heavy lidded expression of complete fascination. His eye didn’t leave Dick’s face while he worked. He hardly seemed to blink for fear of missing one of Dick’s reactions.

 

On and on it went, up to three fingers and then four; Slade kept up a perfect rhythm, never faltering. Dick was quaking with exertion, from tensing and arching at every change of angle and scrape of nails inside him, and the pleasure was overriding even his need to breathe. Several times he caught himself holding his breath, waiting with alien desperation for the next thrust of Slade’s fingers.

 

Four fingers didn’t satisfy him for long. His hole was relaxed and stretched, ready to be filled by something more substantial than fingers, and he could see the outline of Slade’s cock through his boxers. Dick’s mouth watered and he moaned, canting his hips into every thrust hoping that Slade would take the hint and just _fuck_ him.

 

But the alpha seemed taken with watching Dick jerk and twitch, occasionally glancing down to watch his fingers disappearing into Dick’s slicked pussy. Through it all, the only thing that gave away Slade’s arousal was the jut of his massive cock and his blown out pupil that nearly encompassed the ice blue of his eye.

 

He reached his breaking point when he felt Slade’s thumb nudging at his sack testingly, teasingly, as if he was _trying_ to draw a reaction out of Dick.

 

“P-please, ple-please,” Dick said, and he hardly recognized his own voice, sounding so desperate and wanton. When Slade’s hand stopped moving completely, Dick couldn’t take it anymore. “ _Please_.” He was practically shrieking, back arching off the bed and tears in his eyes for the second time. “Slade! _Alpha_ , _please_ ,” he sobbed, a few tears dripping down his cheeks, hips stuttering out a shallow thrust onto Slade’s fingers. “I ne-need y-your knot. _Please_!”

 

And, apparently, that was all Slade had been waiting to hear. Before Dick could even blink, he had been flipped onto his stomach and dragged to the edge of the bed. He was so surprised that he must have been nothing but dead weight, but Slade didn’t even grunt with effort as he draped Dick over the lip of the bed, pressing Dick’s hips into the side of the mattress and leaving him to balance on unsteady legs. Slade’s presence behind him momentarily retreated just far enough that Dick couldn’t feel his body heat.

 

His wrists were free again, but before he could find the strength-- or the will-- to push himself up, Slade had him by the nape of the neck, pressing his face roughly into the bed. The new position trapped Dick’s dick between the edge of the mattress and his stomach; friction against his neglected cock, paired with the dominating hold on such a vulnerable place of his body, had more tears spilling down his face. Dick’s legs were kicked apart-- mostly gently. Then his hips were lifted into the air and held there by one of Slade’s hands at the junction of thigh and hip so that his toes didn’t even reach the ground, all of his weight balanced on his sternum and elbows. A thick, muscle corded thigh slotted between Dick’s left hip and the bed to hold the position.

 

Dick took a shuddering breath when he felt the velvety heat of Slade’s cock slide against the back of his thigh. It felt even bigger than he had thought it would, and on instinct Dick’s back fell into an exaggerated, presenting arch.

 

“Good,” Slade murmured. “Just relax and let me take care of you, pretty bird.”

 

And then Slade was pressing into him, steady and without hesitation, without pause.

 

Dick’s mouth opened on a silent scream, muscles quivering as Slade bottomed out. For a few seconds, the room was filled with their panting. Slade’s hand shifting on his leg was the only warning he got before the thick length sheathed inside of him pulled almost all the way out and slammed back in, jarring him forward against the grip on his neck. The next thrust was just as rough-- showcasing the strength of the alpha mounting him-- and Dick’s mind went fuzzy around the edges as Slade found a pace that suited him and fucked into Dick’s willing, pliant body.

 

Whatever resistance Dick had been able to hold onto up until then-- if any-- was wrenched away from him as Slade pounded into his body, dominating Dick in a way he’d needed so desperately. Whimpers and whines fell from his mouth freely, body going all but limp in the alpha’s hands as he gave himself over completely.

 

“There you are,” Slade said above him, softer than Dick had expected from the vicious rhythm of his thrusts. “There you are.”

 

Drool was soaking through the bedding beneath him since he couldn’t keep his mouth closed, and Dick stared, vision blurred by tears, at the far wall of the bedroom. The obscene sound of flesh on flesh, the deep penetration of every thrust, Slade’s quiet snarls after every other snap of his hips… all of it was combining to drive Dick higher and higher towards his orgasm. Dick tried desperately to meet the next powerful movement of Slade’s hips, but the alpha practically roared grip on the back of Dick’s neck turning vice-like-- instantly, obediently, Dick went boneless.   

 

His walls fluttered desperately around Slade’s cock at the show of dominance, and Slade must have been able to tell he was close because his thrusts became urgent and even more forceful.

 

“Come on, kid,” Slade said, a growl in his voice that sent a shiver down Dick’s already trembling back.

 

It was Slade’s swelling knot tugging on the rim of his fucked-out hole that sent Dick over the edge with a scream. Vision whiting out, ears ringing, Dick shuddered through the most intense orgasm of his life; he clenched rhythmically around Slade’s cock, come adding to the mess of drool and sweat already staining the duvet. Dick let himself float in the afterglow and aftershocks, eyes slipping closed-- he was only vaguely aware of Slade grunting and leaning over him, come searing his insides and causing Dick’s body to clench down again.

 

Slade was layered over his back, supporting himself with the hand that had previously been holding Dick’s neck only enough not to crush the omega, and he could feel the alpha’s come settling deep inside of him, and it was all just so _right_ that he, without thinking about it, began to purr.

 

He only really came to awareness when Slade maneuvered both of them back onto the bed because of the knot shifting inside him. Sleepy and sated, Dick found his back pressed snugly against Slade’s chest, one of the alpha’s arms wrapped around his chest, the other around his waist, cradling him.

 

Dick’s purring kicked up a notch, and, after a moment, it was echoed by Slade’s deeper  rumbling. The alpha’s nose fit behind Dick’s ear like he’d done it a million times, huffing warm air against the shell of his ear and the side of his neck-- scent marking him.

 

Sleep was tugging at the edges of Dick’s mind, unavoidable and persistent, but he still managed to wrap his hands around the thick forearm across his chest and say, hoarsely, “Thank you,” before being pulled into unconsciousness.

 

He dreamed of black and orange and a feeling he could only describe as _home_.

 

*        *        *        *        *        *

 

When Dick woke up, he did so slowly; the way he woke up only when he was at the manor, some place he knew no one would, or could, hurt him.

 

When Dick woke up, he was alone. He’d been cleaned up again, tucked securely under the blankets of the king sized bed. The soiled duvet was folded neatly at the foot of the mattress.

 

He lifted his head to look at the clock-- it read a few minutes after six am. Then he grabbed for the glass of water that had been sitting on the edge of the night stand, downing it in two big gulps before replacing it on the small table.

 

Slowly, Dick levered himself into a sitting position, cautious of his sore muscles. He went to scrub his hands over his face, and that’s when he saw that Slade had left his fancy white shirt bundled up near the edge of Dick’s pillow.

 

Dick had been gripping it in his sleep.

 

As he ran his fingers over the line of buttons, Dick realized there was something tucked into the breast pocket. Curious, he pulled it out. A small smile quirked his lips up as he read it.

 

A number with a Star City area code was scribbled at the top of the scrap of paper-- Dick was positive it was Slade’s personal cell phone number.

 

The line underneath that Slade had written, _I sent your clothes to the laundry and paid the staff handsomely for their discretion._

 

Shaking his head, Dick dropped the note to the bed with a small smile and got up to find his bag and clean clothes.

 

And, if he hadn’t been trained by Batman, he might have missed that, on the back of the paper, Slade had written another message.

 

_Try not to be late next time, pretty bird._

 

Dick’s stomach flipped as he read it, and then read it again. He folded the note carefully and carried it out of the room with him, knowing then that there would _definitely_ be a next time.

 

And he better not be late.  

 

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [Tumblr](https://thebirds-and-thebees.tumblr.com) my askbox is always open for prompts and requests!


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